What May Come
by Frodo Baggins of Bag End
Summary: Frodo's healing in the West is not as he had hoped. . .and yet it is more; in Tol Eressea he finds a new home and family, and a different kind of healing. . . . Follows FrodoHealers standards no profanity, no slash, no sex.
1. Part I: Prologue

Title: What May Come  
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)  
E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com  
Characters: Celebrian, Frodo, Elrond; Gandalf, Bilbo, various others.  
Rating: PG-13 or so. It's probably just PG-13, generally, but I don't know angstiness and h/c level for every single chapter yet. This chapter - the prologue - is really just about PG or so.  
Summary: Frodo's healing in the West is not as he had hoped. . .and yet it is more; in Tol Eressea he finds a new home and family, and a different kind of healing. . . .  
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.  
Story Notes: I am delighted to finally publish a story that I began work on more than a year and a half ago, though to this day I cannot say it will not undergo further revision before some final version. However, it is very dear to my heart, and I thought I might go ahead and share it here as a work-in-progress - open to you all the drafts, notes, etc. - of the past many months and hope that you, too, will enjoy them. The interpretation, of course, is purely mine and was touched upon in "The Memory of Taste" (original publication of first chapter 1/18/03). . .others may disagree, or may share this view, but this is an old project of mine and simply a view I hold. If you wish to hear my reasoning, please ask, and I'll dig up links to my LJ comments dicussing the tale or engage in a discussion with you. But I hope that whether my rational is important to you or not, you will enjoy the story. . .I don't think it's necessary to know the reasoning behind my thought pattern in advance to find pleasure in the tale. :) At least I hope it isn't!  
  
Warning: pure fluff (sometimes angst-filled, sometimes not) written for its own sake. It's not intended to have a grand plot. Lots of Frodo h/c in this, though, so if you like that, you'll enjoy this, especially if you like food detail! If you don't. . .my apologies; to each her (or his) own taste. :) I make absolutely no claims whatsoever that this is a canonically thematic portrayal of the West, though I have attempted to follow some canonical points, at least, of what we know, including that there was never a guarantee of how Frodo's healing would come, if it did, but that he might seek it there. . .as well as in some other matters, such as some of the book's characters actually being there at this time. Beyond those little points, I'm not even attempting to create a canonically purist story. This is purely for pleasure.  
  
FYI: I'm toying with two possible titles: "What May Come" or "Beyond Repair." Feedback welcomed on that matter especially.  
  
For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please e-mail your request to febobefics at yahoo dot com.  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.  
  
**Part I: Prologue**  
  
_Elrond, who had remained unwed through all his long years, now took to wife Celebrian, daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn of Lorien. His children were the twin brethren, Elladan and Elrohir, and Arwen Undomiel, the fairest of all the maidens of the Third Age, in whom the likeness of Luthien her foremother returned to Middle-earth. These children were three parts of Elven-race, but the doom spoken at their birth was that they should live even as the Elves so long as their father remained in Middle-earth; but if he departed they should have then the choice either to pass over the Sea with him, or to become mortal, if they remained behind._

_-The Peoples of Middle-Earth (HoME v. XI I), 234-235.  
  
Yet it is said that bitterest of all the sorrows of that age was the parting of Arwen and Elrond. For they were sundered by the Sea and by a doom beyond the end of the world. For when the Great Ring was unmade the Three Rings of the Elves failed also, and Elrond was weary of Middle-earth at last and departed seeking Celebrian, and returned never again._

_-The Peoples of Middle-Earth (HoME v. XI I), 265-266.  
  
It was in the year 2509 that Celebrian was captured while crossing the High Pass and wounded with poisoned blade. Though her husband was the greatest healer in all Middle-earth, and did all that he could to aid her, she recovered in body alone, healing insufficient for one of elven-kind. Her fea was wounded beyond the repair he could give, and she wandered the halls of Imladris as might some shade.  
  
Elrond was much grieved to see her sorrow, and did all within his power to assuage her pain. But the Lady Celebrian's grief was of the kind that could not weep, and she began to speak of passing over the Sea. This recourse she delayed, knowing the doom spoken at the births of her children; but at last Elrond came to her on an afternoon in their rose-garden, which had failed for the first time to bloom.  
  
"I would not have my wife fade before me, though it break my heart," he said, "and that choice presses hard upon us, does it not?"  
  
But she turned away, and said to him, "Indeed it does, but you know what was spoken of the twins, and of Arwen. That choice is yet before them, and yet my heart foretells that I shall not see them again, though they claim no judgment as yet. And a great darkness gathers over Middle-earth: shall I see you again? Sauron's power grows mightier with each passing day, and the shadows press about the walls of Imladris, and I fear for what may come."  
  
But this thought was more than Elrond's heart could bear, and he turned from her with these words: "Surely Arwen, at least, would not choose thus. She will pass over the Sea when I come to join you, surely as we will come. Would you rather your children watched their mother fade in Middle-earth, and Sauron's purpose be the more accomplished in your passing?"  
  
And Celebrian's heart was broken with these words, and she chose to sail from the Grey Havens into the West. But at that bitter parting, she gave unto her daughter Arwen Undomiel a white gem upon a chain which she had been wont to wear since her earliest years. Then she took her leave of Arwen, and kissed her, and did likewise with her sons and her husband before boarding the ship, and nevermore has she been seen this side of the Sea._

_-The Recorded History of Imladris,  
Continued by the Parvasson Lomendil at the Request of Elrond Half-Elven  
_  
Her breath caught.  
  
Trembling, she rose, glad to feel the smooth floor beneath her bare feet as she got up, wandering the lit corridors - after all these years, she still preferred lights at night, though her terror of darkness had long ago passed away.  
  
But the visions. . .  
  
The visions she had thought gone when she left Middle-earth, though a few had come to her since. But never had they concerned any save her children.  
  
Arwen would not come.  
  
She knew that already.  
  
Arwen would wed a mortal, and die as did the Secondborn, and they would never see one another again. . ._just as my heart foretold_, Celebrian thought, wincing, as she gazed out into the darkness of the rose-gardens.  
  
Her brothers would stay as well - Elladan and Elrohir would not sail. Their grandfather would remain with them for a time, but - Celebrian smiled - Ada would eventually come, and this much she felt certain of, at least.  
  
But Ama was coming.  
  
Ama would be allowed to come.  
  
And that thought still brought her to tears, shaken, every time she remembered. Always she had been brought up to think that they would be separated forever - _and now it is my daughter instead who will be separated from me_, she mused with a wan smile devoid of amusement.  
  
None of this had confused her in the vision - the absence of her children and Adar, the presence of Ama, not the glimpse of her husband - all that seemed familiar, like a picture seen many times before. What confused her was something - rather, someone - else.  
  
He - for it was clearly a he - was small, the size her twins had been once, but looked - frail, his small limbs wrapped in a cloak like her own, like one made by her mother's people, so small she could easily gather him into her arms like an elven-child. Yet by his features she could see that he was no child, but one grown, and filled with sorrow beyond imagining. Most breathtaking of all was that he seemed not like others, but - there was a light about him, a light that reminded her only of what she had seen in the eyes of those who had seen the Trees.  
  
A light like the light of the Silmarils themselves.  
  
If he had seen the things she had seen in that nightmarish vision. . .  
  
_Cold dark ice falling falling ice frozen come to us come to us the Ring the Ring frozen can't move can't breathe so cold_  
  
She winced, shivering slightly as a breeze began to blow: the house sometimes caught a hint of the winds off the water when there was a good sailing wind. At first, during her earliest days in Tol Eressea, she had come into these gardens when the nightmares woke her, terrified, trying to escape them.  
  
_Hurts don't leave me don't leave me hurts so can't breathe cold so cold so cold so cold thirsty so thirsty_  
  
Sometimes at night she dreamed that she could still hear their voices.  
  
Even now. Even years into her own healing. Rough voices, and the screech of a Nazgul's shrill cry.  
  
_Thirsty. . .cold. . . ._  
  
Tears filled her eyes.  
  
Yes. Of course.  
  
Turning, she went back inside.  
  
There was much to do.  
  
-to be continued-


	2. Part II: White Ship Into the West

Title: What May Come  
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)  
E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com  
Characters: Celebrian, Frodo, Elrond; Gandalf, Bilbo, various others.  
Rating: PG-13 or so. It's probably just PG-13, generally, but I don't know angstiness and h/c level for every single chapter yet. Chapter II - "White Ship Into the West" - is really about PG to PG-13, depending upon your level of interpretation of rating.  
Summary: Frodo's healing in the West is not as he had hoped. . .and yet it is more; in Tol Eressea he finds a new home and family, and a different kind of healing. . . .  
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.  
Story Notes: I am delighted to finally publish a story that I began work on more than a year and a half ago, though to this day I cannot say it will not undergo further revision before some final version. However, it is very dear to my heart, and I thought I might go ahead and share it here as a work-in-progress - open to you all the drafts, notes, etc. - of the past many months and hope that you, too, will enjoy them. The interpretation, of course, is purely mine and was touched upon in "The Memory of Taste" (original publication of first chapter 1/18/03). . .others may disagree, or may share this view, but this is an old project of mine and simply a view I hold. If you wish to hear my reasoning, please ask, and I'll dig up links to my LJ comments dicussing the tale or engage in a discussion with you. But I hope that whether my rational is important to you or not, you will enjoy the story. . .I don't think it's necessary to know the reasoning behind my thought pattern in advance to find pleasure in the tale. :) At least I hope it isn't!

Warning: pure fluff (sometimes angst-filled, sometimes not) written for its own sake. It's not intended to have a grand plot. Lots of Frodo h/c in this, though, so if you like that, you'll enjoy this, especially if you like food detail! If you don't. . .my apologies; to each her (or his) own taste. :) I make absolutely no claims whatsoever that this is a canonically thematic portrayal of the West, though I have attempted to follow some canonical points, at least, of what we know, including that there was never a guarantee of how Frodo's healing would come, if it did, but that he might seek it there. . .as well as in some other matters, such as some of the book's characters actually being there at this time. Beyond those little points, I'm not even attempting to create a canonically purist story. This is purely for pleasure.  
  
FYI: I'm toying with two possible titles: "What May Come" or "Beyond Repair." Feedback welcomed on that matter especially.  
  
Part II Notes: Thank you all so much for your encouragement and support thus far!!! :) It means the world to me, and without it I doubt I'd have had the courage to let this see the light of day as yet. Sometimes those things dearest to our heart are those things we most fear to see go into the world, and it is through your gentle support that I have come to understand that there is good reason to release such butterflies into the wind. I hope they brighten your day!  
  
An extra-extra-special thanks to all those who have reviewed thus far: Gayalondiel, Shirebound, Elwen, CpSings4Him, Leia Wood, Almie, Gentle Hobbit, Breon Briarwood, lovethosehobbits, and anyone else I've missed! (That's as of the latest listing, but in case I've missed anyone. . .thank you so very much!!!)  
  
For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please e-mail your request to febobefics at yahoo dot com.  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.  
  
**Part II: White Ship Into the West**  
  
Salt.  
  
Always a hint of salt had eased feelings of sickness: in Imladris, when he awoke, Hir Elrond had given him salted broth, assuring him it would help the dizzy pangs of nausea overwhelming him when he tried at first to sit up. It had, and even though in Mordor he had longed so for cool, clear water, he found that upon waking, it was that salted broth that he wished for, and he felt so much better when Aragorn gave it him, spreading soothing balm across his lips before raising his head with one strong arm beneath the pillows, tucking the spout of a small feeding-cup between lips which had almost forgotten how to close around such a thing, how to drink. . . . Many months later, back in the Shire, it had been Rose's hearty soups that sustained him, again always with "a good pinch o'salt," as she would say, adding a little extra to his mugful. . .for it was, from the start, their secret - meaning his condition. They smiled like portrait- poses for Sam, and pretended nothing was wrong, or very little, or at least nothing Sam couldn't fix, but Rose knew the truth, and he knew the truth, and when Sam was away tending to the ravaged earth of the Shire, Rosie would do her best to soothe the ravages left by Mordor and by long pain and wandering. Her parents occupied with the upkeep of the farm, she would bring soup for Frodo and keep him wrapped in warm quilts, and they'd talk when he could. . .talk of anything but death and elves and white ships and the crash of waves against the shores.  
  
Perhaps that was why Elanor was born with a sense of that dancing in those eyes of hers, Frodo mused, shivering. Beautiful. . .so beautiful. . .and yet already she seemed to know; as a babe she could guess whether he was hiding the truth when he could deceive even her father, his closest and dearest of friends. . . .  
  
He would never see her grow up now. He would not wait up with Sam and Rose for her when she stayed out late dancing while courting, or dance with her at her wedding. He would not hold her firstborn child in his arms.  
  
_But you would not have done those things anyhow._  
  
Sighing, he huddled more closely into the seat, attempting desperately to balance the mug in his hands. It was good soup, he supposed - hot, salty broth - but all he could manage so far was an occasional sip and a little hand-warming against the smooth wood of the polished mug.  
  
It wasn't Rose's.  
  
_I've left behind my only family, save Bilbo. . .and he will die soon, no doubt. What shall then become of me, a hobbit in a land filled with strangers?_  
  
They were kind. And they understood him in ways he could not yet understand, that he could sense.  
  
But they were not family.  
  
They were not home.  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
The Ringbearer looked up with a start to find Gandalf beside him, feeling suddenly as taken aback as he had what seemed so many ages ago when Gandalf had come knocking at his door the day after the famous birthday-party.  
  
"May I join you?"  
  
Still somewhat startled, Frodo nodded silently, snuggling into his cloak and hood as Gandalf sat gingerly beside him, then more comfortably settled in. Both were silent for some moments until at last the wizard gave a wry smile toward the mug, nodding.  
  
"Lord Elrond will be most concerned if the contents of that are returned to the kitchen with so little missing. I suspect that you will be sent to bed and given your next meal there. . .after a dose or two of medicine."  
  
Neither protest nor smile met him in reply. . .only a shake of the head as Frodo turned away, his countenance wan. "Then I shall have to pour at least some of it out. Please don't tell him."  
  
"And why is that?"  
  
Frodo squirmed uncomfortably in his seat. "I. . .I can't drink it."  
  
Gandalf's voice remained gentle and patient. "The cooks would prepare anything possible that you would like. You have only to name it. . .or even to describe what interests you, and they will create it. These are master-chefs who have done this for quite long enough to know just how to please even a hobbit's palate. If the chicken and mushroom broth is not to your liking - I know there is some excellent roast chicken, plain enough for a sea-voyage, the sauces prepared to be added by each diner. And I believe there is custard. . .plain chicken broth. . .ginger cordial. . . ."  
  
"No - thank you, but - that isn't it - " Shaking his head, Frodo looked down, grateful that the hood shadowed his face as tears fell into the broth. "I - I - I feel - " He stopped, struggling with the words, for there seemed to be none.  
  
For a long moment the wizard was silent. At last, however, he put his arm around Frodo's shoulders.  
  
"When Cirdan showed me over this ship earlier, he said that Elrond's wife was fondest of this place more than anywhere else. She used to sit here for hours, he told me, lost in darkness. . .often staring over the railing, the look of a trapped animal in her eyes." He paused, his gaze dimming. "I saw her often before it happened. Only once after. . .but once is all that is needed to impress a memory forever. Most of us do not know how Elrond endured the pain, or how she lasted so long as she did."  
  
Frodo swallowed tightly, tears stinging his eyes.  
  
"Yet they did. And Elrond told me scarcely a handful of years ago now that had it never transpired, he would not have known how to help your wound. His pain became our blessing."  
  
"And what of hers?" Frodo found the words out of his mouth almost before he could think, their tone almost bitter with anxiety.  
  
"We cannot know what happens to those who have sailed West, Frodo. But in what knowledge the Valar have permitted me to have of such things, I have never known of any elf who sailed and was not made whole again."  
  
Nodding faintly, Frodo attempted another mouthful of broth. It tasted slightly less earthy, a bit lighter, settling more easily upon his aching stomach.  
  
"And she will be meeting us, I understand, at the dock."  
  
Wearily Frodo nodded once more. "She is Hir Elrond's wife. . .and her mother is here. I am not surprised."  
  
"Frodo."  
  
The small hobbit looked up. Gandalf opened both arms to him, ready to gather him closer, if he were willing. Somewhat stiffly, with reluctance, Frodo yielded, blue eyes brightening with curiousity.  
  
"There is something that you have not heard. It is simple enough, but it concerns you closely, and yet - have you ever been told of the night you were born?"  
  
Frodo shook his head. "Only - only that my parents were - visiting Bag End. Why?"  
  
"They were indeed." Gandalf continued without further answer. "It was storming that night - at times the thunder even half-drowned out Primula's screams. Yes," he added, at Frodo's look of astonishment, "I was there was well: I had come to visit Bilbo, and had stayed over for his birthday celebration and because, I confess, of the terrible storm coming up. And with the weather, we couldn't very well have anyone getting out for a doctor. Bilbo was quite willing, but I don't think your father was in any state to be left alone with his wife and a wizard!" Chuckling, he winked. . .but at once his expression grew grave. "As you might imagine, this meant that I had to provide a little. . .assistance, shall we say."  
  
The wizard paused a moment.  
  
"You weren't crying. You were a tiny, fragile, pale thing, cold and blue, as if you'd been drowned. Once I untangled the cord and cut it, you began to cry a little, and your mother wept for joy."  
  
He pulled Frodo a litle closer, lowering his voice almost to a whisper.  
  
"You were meant to_ live_, Frodo. Whether or not you find that easy to believe now."  
  
As if a weight had been pushed from his chest, Frodo nodded weakly, folding against the familiar robes as he began to sob into them. And Gandalf simply sat. . .sat holding him, rubbing his back in the heavy, but not uncomfortable, silence between them.  
  
-to be continued-


	3. Part III: Small And Great Steps

Title: What May Come  
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)  
E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com  
Characters: Celebrian, Frodo, Elrond; Gandalf, Bilbo, various others.  
Rating: PG-13 or so. It's probably just PG-13, generally, but I don't know angstiness and h/c level for every single chapter yet. Chapter III - "Small And Great Steps" - is really about PG to PG-13, depending upon your level of interpretation of rating.  
Summary: Frodo's healing in the West is not as he had hoped. . .and yet it is more; in Tol Eressea he finds a new home and family, and a different kind of healing. . . .  
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.  
Story Notes: I am delighted to finally publish a story that I began work on more than a year and a half ago, though to this day I cannot say it will not undergo further revision before some final version. However, it is very dear to my heart, and I thought I might go ahead and share it here as a work-in-progress - open to you all the drafts, notes, etc. - of the past many months and hope that you, too, will enjoy them. The interpretation, of course, is purely mine and was touched upon in "The Memory of Taste" (original publication of first chapter 1/18/03). . .others may disagree, or may share this view, but this is an old project of mine and simply a view I hold. If you wish to hear my reasoning, please ask, and I'll dig up links to my LJ comments dicussing the tale or engage in a discussion with you. But I hope that whether my rational is important to you or not, you will enjoy the story. . .I don't think it's necessary to know the reasoning behind my thought pattern in advance to find pleasure in the tale. :) At least I hope it isn't!  
  
Warning: pure fluff (sometimes angst-filled, sometimes not) written for its own sake. It's not intended to have a grand plot. Lots of Frodo h/c in this, though, so if you like that, you'll enjoy this, especially if you like food detail! If you don't. . .my apologies; to each her (or his) own taste. :) I make absolutely no claims whatsoever that this is a canonically thematic portrayal of the West, though I have attempted to follow some canonical points, at least, of what we know, including that there was never a guarantee of how Frodo's healing would come, if it did, but that he might seek it there. . .as well as in some other matters, such as some of the book's characters actually being there at this time. Beyond those little points, I'm not even attempting to create a canonically purist story. This is purely for pleasure.  
  
FYI: I'm toying with two possible titles: "What May Come" or "Beyond Repair." Feedback welcomed on that matter especially.  
  
Part III Notes: Thank you all so much for your encouragement and support thus far!!! :) It means the world to me, and without it I doubt I'd have had the courage to let this see the light of day as yet. Sometimes those things dearest to our heart are those things we most fear to see go into the world, and it is through your gentle support that I have come to understand that there is good reason to release such butterflies into the wind. I hope they brighten your day!  
  
An extra-extra-special thanks to all those who have reviewed thus far: Gayalondiel, Shirebound, Elwen, CpSings4Him, Leia Wood, Almie, Gentle Hobbit, Breon Briarwood, lovethosehobbits, Ancalime8301, Elizabeth 16, and anyone else I've missed! (That's as of the latest listing, but in case I've missed anyone. . .thank you so very much!!!)  
  
And don't worry. . .Frodo will be setting foot in Tol Eressea quite soon. ;) I promise.  
  
For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please e-mail your request to febobefics at yahoo dot com.  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters, such as Mornaduial and Narien, are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.  
  
**Part III: Small And Great Steps**  
  
"Elves can go mad, you do realise."  
  
"Yes. And how many times has that happened in Tol Eressea?" Celebrian settled back on her heels, laughing, pushing tumbled waves of hair back from her face as she gathered the now-folded linens into her arms and slipped her legs over the bed. Something lower, she thought, or at the very least a fine step-stool. . . .  
  
"There's always a first time." But Narien's smile was too broad for severity, and Celebrian could hardly believe that the elder elleth still meant the remark seriously. Mornaduial and Narien had been two of the first people she had grown to know well there; he and she had sailed West long ago, one after the other, in the earliest days of Imladris. Mornaduial had known Elrond from the Last Alliance, from the the battle against Sauron in the Black Land itself, but that had been before Celebrian had become his bride, and she had never known these two in Arda. To find someone who remembered his fair smile. . .his fine grey eyes. . .his strong silken hands. . .she wept, and at last found voice for her grief at having been forced to abandon them. . .forced to leave.  
  
_What were my marriage vows if the Shadow can take them from me?  
  
What wife am I to be such a coward that I cannot face the darkness for the sake of my husband and my children?_  
  
And yet they had held her, both of them, and hearing her heartsong told her again and again that she must not think less of herself. . .that what needed to be done was done, and all would be well.  
  
Never had she dreamt that it truly would be.  
  
Never until the morning when she woke and did not wish to die or to sleep again at once, but to rise, and to taste food and drink. . .and though she still did not sing, she could remember it without pain now. Singing and dancing. . . .  
  
And laughter.  
  
She could laugh again.  
  
And now she did, turning as she tucked the freshly folded linens into the cupboard.  
  
"Yes, always a first time. I suppose now we shall see flying pigs, and cows that talk, and goats with eyes like the Silmarils."  
  
"Celebrian - "  
  
"I'm not mad."  
  
"But how do you know this - vision - is true?" Narien's tone dimmed with anxiety.  
  
"It - " Sobering, Celebrian hesitated, swallowing. "It was like - the other. The one of Arwen in her wedding-gown."  
  
"But you do not know - "  
  
"_I know_." She shivered. "I know it as surely as breath. She will not come. She has wedded one of the Secondborn, and she will remain in Arda. And her brothers will stay behind as well."  
  
"And you say this - this little one you see - he is not of the Firstborn."  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Then how is it he can come here? You know - "  
  
"Ama's coming, too."  
  
A sigh, and the other two exchanged anxious, rather alarmed looks. Mornaduial spoke first.  
  
"A Noldorin Kinslayer - "  
  
"My _Ami_." Celebrian looked up pleadingly. "She is my Ami more lately than that, and - remember, she was not one of Feanor's people, burning boats and slaughtering others of the Firstborn, but of those who followed Fingolfin across the Helcaraxe, whence many were lost. Ami came because she longed to see Arda. She made mistakes. But have many of us not? Does she not know that? If she is allowed to come, there is some cause. Something has happened. And for someone not of our kind to come as well, and my husband, and Mithrandir. . .something has changed. Not all is as we left it. And for the better, I think. . .though, as ever, at great price."  
  
Mornaduial blinked. "You cannot mean - "  
  
"Yes." She smiled. "The Lesser Shadow has departed from Arda. As for the Greater. . ." Her expression darkening once more, she sighed. "There is nothing anyone can do about that, save the Valar themselves, or Iluvatar, should he choose to move on behalf of His creation. But for now. . .the Greater will sleep, at least, and it will be well there. The Age of Men will be a beautiful one."  
  
_And my daughter will help lead them._  
  
Tears sparkled in her eyes as she smiled once more.  
  
Still shaking his head, Mornaduial knelt beside her. "What should we help you do, then, since you are so set upon this? I do not pretend to understand it, but if you will go ahead with this - "  
  
"I am, and I will." Considering for a moment, she looked about. The house had so long been prepared for only tall people, those of elven stature - and she and her husband and children were all tall and slender in form even among elves, the children long past the need for children's furnishings or anything smaller than their parents' sizes in such matters as table-and- chairs, desks, beds, everything. . . . "I do not know yet what he will be like. . .what he will want. . .whether a regular bed or one more suited to his size, something small. . .but could you help me in having some sturdy, wide step-stools made at once? It would not do for him to have to be lifted in and out of bed, with no other way up and down. I do not mind, but there is hardly anything more frightening than being in a strange place and having no way out of wherever you are. . .being at the mercy of strangers."  
  
Another quirked eyebrow. "True. But - Celebrian, surely he will have his own residence when he arrives?"  
  
She hesitated. "I have a strange feeling in the matter of this little one. He is. . .different."  
  
-to be continued- 


	4. Part IV: With Pretty Things For Thee

Title: What May Come  
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)  
E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com  
Characters: Celebrian, Frodo, Elrond; Gandalf, Bilbo, various others.  
Rating: PG-13 or so. It's probably just PG-13, generally, but I don't know angstiness and h/c level for every single chapter yet. Chapter IV - "With Pretty Things For Thee" - is really about PG to PG-13, depending upon your level of interpretation of rating.  
Summary: Frodo's healing in the West is not as he had hoped. . .and yet it is more; in Tol Eressea he finds a new home and family, and a different kind of healing. . . .  
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.  
Story Notes: I am delighted to finally publish a story that I began work on more than a year and a half ago, though to this day I cannot say it will not undergo further revision before some final version. However, it is very dear to my heart, and I thought I might go ahead and share it here as a work-in-progress - open to you all the drafts, notes, etc. - of the past many months and hope that you, too, will enjoy them. The interpretation, of course, is purely mine and was touched upon in "The Memory of Taste" (original publication of first chapter 1/18/03). . .others may disagree, or may share this view, but this is an old project of mine and simply a view I hold. If you wish to hear my reasoning, please ask, and I'll dig up links to my LJ comments dicussing the tale or engage in a discussion with you. But I hope that whether my rational is important to you or not, you will enjoy the story. . .I don't think it's necessary to know the reasoning behind my thought pattern in advance to find pleasure in the tale. :) At least I hope it isn't!  
  
Warning: pure fluff (sometimes angst-filled, sometimes not) written for its own sake. It's not intended to have a grand plot. Lots of Frodo h/c in this, though, so if you like that, you'll enjoy this, especially if you like food detail! If you don't. . .my apologies; to each her (or his) own taste. :) I make absolutely no claims whatsoever that this is a canonically thematic portrayal of the West, though I have attempted to follow some canonical points, at least, of what we know, including that there was never a guarantee of how Frodo's healing would come, if it did, but that he might seek it there. . .as well as in some other matters, such as some of the book's characters actually being there at this time. Beyond those little points, I'm not even attempting to create a canonically purist story. This is purely for pleasure.  
  
FYI: I'm toying with two possible titles: "What May Come" or "Beyond Repair." Feedback welcomed on that matter especially.  
  
Part IV Notes: Thank you all so much for your encouragement and support thus far!!! :) It means the world to me, and without it I doubt I'd have had the courage to let this see the light of day as yet. Sometimes those things dearest to our heart are those things we most fear to see go into the world, and it is through your gentle support that I have come to understand that there is good reason to release such butterflies into the wind. I hope they brighten your day!  
  
The nursery-rhyme/song used is quoted from _Cakes and Custard_, Children's Rhymes Chosen By Brian Alderson, Illustrated By Helen Oxenbury; William Morrow And Company (New York), 1975. The rhymes appearing in the book are taken from a variety of sources and are predominantly traditional to the English nursery or playground. The book's original publication in Great Britain was in 1975. I fear that the formatting here is not quite as I would wish, but I cannot seem to get it to go otherwise. . . . If anyone knows how to use tabbed spacing here, please do let me know! Thanks -  
  
An extra-extra-special thanks to all those who have reviewed thus far: Gayalondiel, Shirebound, Elwen, CpSings4Him, Leia Wood, Almie, Gentle Hobbit, Breon Briarwood, lovethosehobbits, Ancalime8301, Elizabeth 16, and anyone else I've missed! (That's as of the latest listing, but in case I've missed anyone. . .thank you so very much!!!)  
  
A word of reassurance for those who still worry. . .as I've promised, no, this one is not a deathfic; I have no plans for the Ringbearer to expire. . .so please don't fret! And he's about to reach Tol Eressea, I promise.  
  
For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please e-mail your request to febobefics at yahoo dot com.  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters, such as Mornaduial and Narien, are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.  
  
**Part IV: With Pretty Things For Thee**  
  
"Well, of _course _I know the ship can't be made to go faster! What I mean is - well - can't _something_ be done, at least?"  
  
"I thought we had discussed that matter already. There is nothing more. Elrond is preparing something at present; otherwise. . ."  
  
"Oh, bother! Is that all?"  
  
"We are not far, Little Master. Soon we will arrive. . .and then. . .hopefully much more can be done."  
  
Frodo listened to the voices with his eyes closed, too tired to let them know yet that he had woken. Bilbo. Dear Bilbo. . .arguing with Gandalf and. . .and Galadriel. . . . But at last he had no choice: his left shoulder ached so terribly, and he felt as if someone had filled his bed with ice while he slept. There was no choice but to open his eyes and admit that he was awake. He had never dreaded it before: always he had been glad to look up and find himself in surroundings that were neither Mordor nor Weathertop, Rivendell nor Minas Tirith. . .but the motion of the ship, pleasant enough to him at first, quickly turned his stomach as the autumn days grew shorter and his vision dimmed.  
  
He wondered whether he had made the right decision.  
  
"There's my lad. . .there's my boy." Bilbo's voice was soft as he greeted the opening blue eyes, his own gaze soliticious with worry. One hand still held Frodo's left one; the other stroked back curls from Frodo's brow, smoothing wayward locks. "How's my Frodo-lad feeling?"  
  
"Cold. . .so cold again. . . ." Regret stabbed at Frodo's heart as he saw the anxious look which passed between Bilbo and Gandalf. Nothing, however, was spoken, and at once strong, gentle arms lifted him: Gandalf gathered him up, holding him close before he was laid back in a nest of freshly warmed blankets, tucked into them cosily by the smooth hands of Lady Galadriel. Whether his eyes revealed more than he realised or she read his heart as she had in Lothlorien, she nodded understandingly, her expression grave as she knelt beside him now, a great deal of her formality set aside.  
  
_But how could you know?_  
  
"My daughter complained bitterly of the cold. She said. . ." Galadriel hesitated, drawing a deep breath, her eyes suddenly bright. "that it was the worst part. There was nothing we offered that she wanted - only, 'More blankets, please, Ada, I'm so cold - ' And of course Celeborn would not deny her that. He would bring every blanket we could find, warm them in front of the fire, wrap her up as he did when she was a little elleth, not even as big as you are now. Until the day she sailed West, she always longed to feel warm again; even when she recovered in body, she was wont to walk the halls of Imladris in garments far warmer than any of Elrond's people, warmer than those of her husband and children. . .or her former preference."  
  
"There's a portrait of her like that in the East Wing," Bilbo murmured gently. "The one in the North Wing is from before, but that East Wing is - beautiful as twilight."  
  
Galadriel nodded. . .and so did Frodo, recalling a walk through that hall on a rainy afternoon. He had been intrigued by the portrait - a silver- haired elleth with eyes like wells of sorrow, pools of deep sadness. It had been the only place he could find solace in the early days after getting up from his injury, after the Council. . .and even as their departure neared and he spent increasing amounts of time with other members of the Fellowship, always he had returned to that hall at least once every few days. . .just to see her. To tell her his troubles, as if she could hear him. It seemed, after all, that sometimes she could, though he knew better.  
  
At last Gandalf rose. "I will go up and fetch your tray, to save them the trouble of bringing it. If I am not mistaken, some of the cooks have been eagerly at work preparing treats for you all afternoon."  
  
"Please. . .I'm not hungry." The thought of food made Frodo's stomach knot, and he turned his face to the pillow. There was an anxious sigh from Bilbo.  
  
"Frodo-lad, you _must_ eat - please, my boy, just look at what they've made for you? Only a few mouthfuls, that's all, and then you can go back to sleep if you like. . . ."  
  
"If I may, Little Master - " Galadriel smiled, putting a soft, slender white hand upon Frodo's brow. "My Celebrian was exactly the same, and I have fought many such battles. Elves may not need food as hobbits do, but to keep refusing food and water as she did speaks regarding the will to live. . .and in that we are as hobbits or men."  
  
Nervously Frodo steeled himself.  
  
_What's she going to do?_  
  
But the Lady merely stroked his hair soothingly, keeping her eyes matched to his, their gazes locked, as if she might thus read him. . .and, strangely, he felt willing.  
  
"Celebrian said she could not eat. We did not force her: elves, as you know, have not the need of food and drink that hobbits do, nor does much good come of nourishment forced upon someone. But it troubled all of us, as it troubles Bilbo, and the rest of us, now to see you unable to eat. Is there nothing, Little One, that you feel might help?"  
  
Frodo hesitated. . .and shook his head weakly. There was nothing, after all.  
  
"Then I will offer you something. I have a gift that I brought for you, but I had not planned to give it until the night before we reached Tol Eressea. It will help you rest, I think; it was Celebrian's favourite quilt when she was a child. I know you are no child, but it is the size of a hobbit's quilt, and I think she would be pleased for you to have it. It is embroidered with stars, with the star of Earendil himself in the centre. If you will eat at least three spoonfuls of food, and no less, then I shall give it to you tonight. Will you promise?"  
  
For a moment Frodo felt trapped between a strange longing and a hesitation to promise the ability to get anything down. . .but Gandalf returned in time to hear this query, bearing the tray, smiling kindly as he bent to present the contents.  
  
"A short look, Frodo, and then you may answer."  
  
Cautiously Frodo turned onto his side, steadying himself as Bilbo patted his back, helping him stay in the comfortable position long enough to study the tray's contents as Gandalf unveiled them. The cover must have first been removed outside, for there was no rush of cooking-smells, much to his relief. There were, however, several very small dishes, samplings of various foods he liked, mostly very plain things common to both hobbits and elves, and familiar to him: chicken broth, plain grapes, honey custard, smoothly mashed potatoes, warm applesauce, moist and tender bits of minced roast chicken, apple juice, tea with honey, a little warmed milk.  
  
At last he looked up, nodding with trepidation. "I promise. At least three."  
  
Bilbo looked as - as he had on the day the doctor had said Frodo would get better, the younger hobbit suddenly mused, when he had been a child and had been terribly ill with measles. . . . He allowed Galadriel to resettle him against soft pillows, propping him up a bit while Gandalf set the tray carefully before him and moved a chair closer so that Bilbo could feed him. Blinking drowsily, he winced, folding gratefully against the Lady's arm as she moved him and tucked him back in. _Too cold._ He was always too cold now, and only a few days ago it had seemed a little warmer than this. . . .  
  
"What would you like to try first, my lad? A sip of juice, to get your throat ready? Or perhaps a nice mouthful of that broth. Good and hot, warm up your bones."  
  
He considered for a moment. "Broth. . .please. Then. . .applesauce. And. . .mashed potatoes. . .please, Bilbo."  
  
The elder hobbit nodded, his eyes sparkling. _When did they grow so bright?_ Too tired to voice the question aloud, or to worry much about it, Frodo let his dry lips part, admitting the spout of the small feeding-cup as his uncle slipped it gently between them, tilting the vessel to help him drink.  
  
There wasn't much taste to it, really.  
  
He said nothing, and allowed Bilbo to feed him the spoonful of applesauce.  
  
_The same.  
  
What's -_  
  
_You know what's happening.  
  
No.  
  
No, it's too soon.  
  
Is it?_  
  
"Frodo. . .Frodo-lad. . .open up for me, now. . .there's a good lad. . . ."  
  
He started, realising he'd gone lost in thought as Bilbo tried to coax a taste of mashed potatoes down him. Dutifully he opened his mouth. The food felt thick and bland against his throat. Not that bland wasn't good, but. . .  
  
_Come to us come to us the Ring the Ring_  
  
His breath caught.  
  
"Frodo?"  
  
He could hear Bilbo's voice, but could not answer; could hear the others join in querying, but could not respond. He could hear Elrond's voice join the others, feel familiar hands touch his brow, feel someone stroke his throat and give him medicine - he recognised the sharp taste - with a dropper.  
  
_Frozen can't move can't breath so cold so cold the Ring the Ring the Ring so cold I don't understand hurts don't leave me don't leave me hurts so can't breathe_  
  
"Frodo. . .ssshhhhh. . . ."  
  
Someone gathered him into warm arms.  
  
"Bilbo, sit with us. Do not fear consoling him as you did when he was a child; do not let what has passed between you, what has happened, change what you would once have done."  
  
Galadriel. The Lady Galadriel. Frodo huddled against the warmth, terrified to let go.  
  
_They'll come for me they'll take me they'll take me with everyone right here there's no escape there's no escape not for me not for me. . . ._  
  
"I. . .well. . ." Bilbo's voice sounded nervous, but bright as it softened into a melody Frodo remembered from long ago. . .an old song. . .was it Mamma who had sung it to him first, or was it Bilbo?  
  
_Does it matter?_

"I saw a ship a-sailing  
A-sailing on the sea; And, oh! it was all laden  
With pretty things for thee.  
  
There were comfits in the cabin,  
And apples in the hold;  
The sails were made of silk,  
And the masts were made of gold:"  
  
Frodo smiled faintly.  
  
It fit, didn't it? Well, perhaps not the next part, but the first part reminded him of it. . . .  
  
"The four-and-twenty sailors  
That stood between the decks  
Were four-and-twenty white mice,  
With chains about their necks.  
  
The captain was a duck,  
With a packet on his back.  
And when the ship began to move,  
The captain said, "Quack! quack!"  
  
Perhaps it would be all right after all.  
  
Perhaps he would see the shores of the West.  
  
Cradled in the miniature quilt embroidered with stars, he slept at last, curled against the warmth of Galadriel. It smelled of _elanor_, the flower of Lothlorien, and of roses. . .crushed roses. . .and he snuggled into its comforting folds, finding it the perfect size for a hobbit.  
  
It was October the fourth.  
  
-to be continued-


	5. Part V: Time Found, Time Lost

Title: What May Come  
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)  
E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com  
Characters: Celebrian, Frodo, Elrond; Gandalf, Bilbo, various others.  
Rating: PG-13 or so. It's probably just PG-13, generally, but I don't know angstiness and h/c level for every single chapter yet. This chapter rated PG-13.  
Summary: Frodo's healing in the West is not as he had hoped. . .and yet it is more; in Tol Eressea he finds a new home and family, and a different kind of healing. . . .  
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.  
Story Notes: I am delighted to finally publish a story that I began work on more than a year and a half ago, though to this day I cannot say it will not undergo further revision before some final version. However, it is very dear to my heart, and I thought I might go ahead and share it here as a work-in-progress - open to you all the drafts, notes, etc. - of the past many months and hope that you, too, will enjoy them. The interpretation, of course, is purely mine and was touched upon in "The Memory of Taste" (original publication of first chapter 1/18/03). . .others may disagree, or may share this view, but this is an old project of mine and simply a view I hold. If you wish to hear my reasoning, please ask, and I'll dig up links to my LJ comments dicussing the tale or engage in a discussion with you. But I hope that whether my rational is important to you or not, you will enjoy the story. . .I don't think it's necessary to know the reasoning behind my thought pattern in advance to find pleasure in the tale. :) At least I hope it isn't!

Warning: pure fluff (sometimes angst-filled, sometimes not) written for its own sake. It's not intended to have a grand plot. Lots of Frodo h/c in this, though, so if you like that, you'll enjoy this, especially if you like food detail! If you don't. . .my apologies; to each her (or his) own taste. :) I make absolutely no claims whatsoever that this is a canonically thematic portrayal of the West, though I have attempted to follow some canonical points, at least, of what we know, including that there was never a guarantee of how Frodo's healing would come, if it did, but that he might seek it there. . .as well as in some other matters, such as some of the book's characters actually being there at this time. Beyond those little points, I'm not even attempting to create a canonically purist story. This is purely for pleasure.

Part V Notes: An extra-extra-extra-special thanks to all those who have reviewed thus far!

A word of reassurance for those who still worry. . .as I've promised, no, this one is not a deathfic; I have no plans for the Ringbearer to expire. . .so please don't fret!

For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please e-mail your request to febobe at yahoo dot com.

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters, such as Mornaduial and Narien, are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.

**Part V: Time Found, Time Lost**

Almost ready.

Celebrian stood in the middle of her bedchamber, inspecting the newly delivered array of items, many of which had been brought with a shaking of heads from Mornaduial and Narien. Yet they had not refused to help her, and now she had sturdy, wide step-stools. . .extra blankets. . .plenty of pillows. . .and a down comforter, though the weather was warm.

How cold it had been at first, how terribly cold. . .she did not like to recall it. _And yet, _she chastised herself, _there is one who cannot forget. Will you put away the memory so soon, when you will need it again?_

A wave of pain assailed her, and she lurched to catch herself against the mattress of the bed.

_Frozen can't move can't breathe so cold so cold the Ring the Ring so cold I don't understand hurts don't leave me don't leave me hurts so can't breathe hurts hurts hurts so cold so cold cold cold. . ._

She swallowed hard against a flash of nausea. Close. Sweet Eru, they were close.

"Celebrian?"

Narien's voice warmed and steadied her almost as much as the arm which rounded her shoulders. After a moment, she nodded. "What is it?"

"Are you all right?" Her companion's voice was rich with concern, all else forgotten for the moment.

"Yes. . .yes, I'm fine. What is it?"

Excitement returned to Narien's tones. "A ship has been sighted coming toward our port."

---

They waited in silence together, and if Narien thought her friend odd for insisting upon bringing a blanket, she said naught of it, for which Celebrian was grateful. Thoughts raced through her mind, and always there was the ever-pressing presence, the sense of cold and fear and pain. . .mingled now with her own mounting fear.

_So many years. . .so much has changed! Will he. . .what if he no longer. . .don't be foolish, Bri! Of course he will still love you! But. . .what if. . . ?_

As the boat neared, she could see him.

He hadn't changed a bit, though she would hardly have expected him to, for the Firstborn did not age, nor would he have gone to war, that he should incur such grave wounds as they cannot heal from.

And his eyes searched the shore for her with such longing that the instant she saw them, her doubts and fears dissolved as light upon the water, and she felt as if she could dance.

He smiled, then, and his smile was kind as summer, as ever it had been, and she felt blessed among ellith. . .but suddenly she remembered: what had happened, that the sense of cold and fear and pain should vanish thus? Surely, no. . .

And just as abruptly as it had gone, it assailed her afresh: but this time she could see why. As the boat docked and came to a steady rest, Elrond turned, and gathered up what appeared to be a small bundle, which he carried as he would a child. Carefully he made his way to the exit, carrying the bundle down in his arms as if it were precious and fragile beyond words.

They did not run to one another, but walked, with the same slow, stately pace borne of centuries' practice, meeting swiftly enough in the midst of the gathering crowd, aware that many stopped to stare at them - the son of Earendil and Elwing, reunited with his bride. _Well, let them,_ thought Celebrian, fluffing the blanket over her arm as her smile widened - the first smile she had given him in ages, she realised.

"Your hair has grown."

His soft voice took her almost by surprise, and at once she found that she could have wept with the joy of hearing it aloud again. "So has yours."

He laughed, then, nodding, and leaned forward to kiss her lips, brushing them warmly with his own before pulling back, his voice still soft as he spoke again. "I have someone for you to meet - someone whom I hope you will not mind joining us for a little. Someone very special." He tucked back the blanket to reveal a mop of dark curls above the most startling blue eyes, set into a frighteningly pale face, that Celebrian had ever seen. The bundle was no larger than a child, and yet clearly he was not a child; everything about his features seemed that of an adult, if a miniature one. "Celebrian, this is Frodo Baggins, bearer of the One Ring and saviour of Arda; Frodo, this is Celebrian, my wife."

"Hello, Frodo." She spoke quietly as she bent over the little person, smiling. "Are you cold? I have brought an extra blanket from home for you."

Relief lit his shy gaze at once, and he nodded timidly. "Yes - yes, please," came the answer, accompanied by a grave nod from Elrond. . .and a flood of thought.

-We must get him to bed at once. Galadriel and I between us were hard-pressed to keep him alive long enough to reach this shore. I would take him to our home, if you will - or we can bear him to the healers instead, rather than having help come to us - -

She nodded. -Nay, I would have him with us instead. Preparations are already laid. Let us take him home.-

They looked down at the bundle in Elrond's arms. Blue eyes had fluttered closed, and Frodo was trembling as if with grave chill.

There was little time to lose.

-to be continued-


	6. Part VI: Summer, Spring, and Autumn

Title: What May Come  
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)  
E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com  
Characters: Celebrian, Frodo, Elrond; Gandalf, Bilbo, various others.  
Rating: PG-13 or so. It's probably just PG-13, generally, but I don't know angstiness and h/c level for every single chapter yet. This chapter rated PG-13.  
Summary: Frodo's healing in the West is not as he had hoped. . .and yet it is more; in Tol Eressea he finds a new home and family, and a different kind of healing. . . .  
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.  
Story Notes: I am delighted to finally publish a story that I began work on more than a year and a half ago, though to this day I cannot say it will not undergo further revision before some final version. However, it is very dear to my heart, and I thought I might go ahead and share it here as a work-in-progress - open to you all the drafts, notes, etc. - of the past many months and hope that you, too, will enjoy them. The interpretation, of course, is purely mine and was touched upon in "The Memory of Taste" (original publication of first chapter 1/18/03). . .others may disagree, or may share this view, but this is an old project of mine and simply a view I hold. If you wish to hear my reasoning, please ask, and I'll dig up links to my LJ comments dicussing the tale or engage in a discussion with you. But I hope that whether my rationale is important to you or not, you will enjoy the story. . .I don't think it's necessary to know the reasoning behind my thought pattern in advance to find pleasure in the tale. :) At least I hope it isn't!

Warning: pure fluff (sometimes angst-filled, sometimes not) written for its own sake. It's not intended to have a grand plot. Lots of Frodo h/c in this, though, so if you like that, you'll enjoy this, especially if you like food detail! If you don't. . .my apologies; to each her (or his) own taste. :) I make absolutely no claims whatsoever that this is a canonically thematic portrayal of the West, though I have attempted to follow some canonical points, at least, of what we know, including that there was never a guarantee of how Frodo's healing would come, if it did, but that he might seek it there. . .as well as in some other matters, such as some of the book's characters actually being there at this time. Beyond those little points, I'm not even attempting to create a canonically purist story. This is purely for pleasure.

Part VI Notes: An extra-extra-extra-special thanks to all those who have reviewed thus far!

A word of reassurance for those who still worry. . .as I've promised, no, this one is not a deathfic; I have no plans for the Ringbearer to expire. . .so please don't fret!

For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please e-mail your request to febobe at yahoo dot com.

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters, such as Mornaduial and Narien, are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.

**Part VI: Summer, Spring, and Autumn**

_Frozen can't move can't breathe so cold so cold the Ring the Ring so cold I don't understand hurts don't leave me don't leave me hurts so can't breathe hurts hurts hurts so cold so cold cold cold. . ._

Frodo felt his breath coming with difficulty, too laboured for comfort. He struggled against what seemed like mouthfuls of chilled air, almost crying out as the cold seemed to invade his chest like knives.

And then. . .just as suddenly. . .it began to recede, though he could not understand at first why. Grateful for the ease in breathing, he merely nestled against the warmth as he felt himself being eased from one pair of arms - Elrond's familiar, graceful touch - into another. This was someone new - someone smaller, but no less strong, and certainly no less warm; indeed, Frodo felt the urge to snuggle against his new caregiver, and blushed as he managed to open his eyes only to find himself cradled by Lady Celebrian herself. But she smiled, and where Elrond was as kind as summer, she seemed as gentle as spring - a fair lady, silver-haired, with depthless eyes that seemed full of unspeakable sorrow and fathomless joy all at once.

"Ssshh, Frodo. Half a moment and we will make you more comfortable. Do you feel you could take something to eat or drink?"

His stomach knotted at the thought of anything more than liquids. He had not been able to eat since that night on the ship, the night when Lady Galadriel had given him Celebrian's childhood quilt. . .which, he found, he now felt rather shy about being wrapped in beneath his cloak and extra blankets. But it was the only thing which seemed to warm him, and he had had little other comfort since that terrible night. He did feel thirsty, though, and for this reason hesitated.

"Perhaps some soup? I have a little broth ready, and there is apple juice, or white wine if you wish."

Soup? At once he nodded eagerly. "Yes. . .yes, please. . .I would like that very much."

She smiled tenderly, and bent to kiss his brow before glancing up with a nod to her husband. Without a word spoken aloud between them, he came, taking Frodo back from her arms and settling cautiously on - yes, a large bed.

"I shall return soon with your meal, Frodo."

Reassured, Frodo nodded, relaxing as Elrond began to unwrap him, easing him gingerly out of his travelling-clothes. It felt a tremendous relief when the elven lord began sponging him down lightly with warm water, bathing face and hands, body and limbs, patting all dry so that he was left feeling refreshed and calmed as a night-shirt was slipped onto his small frame.

"No doubt Celebrian will prepare the bath for you later; I am sure you will enjoy a soak. But for now, it is time to eat and rest."

Frodo nodded shyly, feeling suddenly awkward in such a great house. "I. . .I. . .please, I hate to impose upon your hospitality. . . ."

"Frodo, it is no imposition." Elrond smiled kindly. "My wife and I wish to have you as our guest, and while you are unwell it is important that you remain somewhere that you can be tended closely. There are healers here, but we would not abandon you to a healers' hall, pleasant as it is, when we can provide what you need. Healers will come here, and they will help us look after you, but you shall live here, and enjoy all the comforts we can provide for you. And that does, I assure you, include all your meals - no one will expect you to eat only three times a day, or less!"

Frodo laughed weakly as he was laid against the pillows; he was dizzy, and it felt good to lie down in a bed again at last. "I'm not very hungry these days, somehow. . . ."

"That, my friend, we must try to remedy. You need not eat large amounts at each meal; a little will suffice until we can coax your stomach into remembering that it belongs to a hobbit." Smiling, Elrond tucked him in warmly, keeping Celebrian's quilt nestled about him beneath the soft sheets and fluffy down comforter. "That, too, will be a part of your care."

"Here we are."

Frodo looked up to find Lady Celebrian setting a tray gingerly on the bed beside him, her husband rising to offer her his place. At once she accepted, smiling like spring sunshine as she began to uncover small dishes. He felt suddenly relieved: these were not even ordinary-sized dishes, and he began to think that perhaps he might be able to swallow some of the contents. She began to uncover what seemed most undaunting: a feeding-cupful of fragrant broth that smelled lightly of chicken and mushrooms. . .a small cup of apple juice. . .and even a miniature glass partly filled with white wine.

"Perhaps some help?"

Her gentle offer was not unwelcome: even Frodo had to admit that he had little chance of successfully holding anything without a spill, given that he could not even sit up unaided. Shyly he allowed Celebrian to ease him up, beginning to arrange pillows cautiously behind his back and head.

Perhaps home was not so far away as he had feared.

-to be continued-


	7. Part VII: Decisions and Details

Title: What May Come  
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)  
E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com  
Characters: Celebrian, Frodo, Elrond; Gandalf, Bilbo, various others.  
Rating: PG-13 or so. It's probably just PG-13, generally, but I don't know angstiness and h/c level for every single chapter yet. This chapter rated PG-13.  
Summary: Frodo's healing in the West is not as he had hoped. . .and yet it is more; in Tol Eressea he finds a new home and family, and a different kind of healing. . . .  
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.  
Story Notes: I am delighted to finally publish a story that I began work on more than a year and a half ago, though to this day I cannot say it will not undergo further revision before some final version. However, it is very dear to my heart, and I thought I might go ahead and share it here as a work-in-progress - open to you all the drafts, notes, etc. - of the past many months and hope that you, too, will enjoy them. The interpretation, of course, is purely mine and was touched upon in "The Memory of Taste" (original publication of first chapter 1/18/03). . .others may disagree, or may share this view, but this is an old project of mine and simply a view I hold. If you wish to hear my reasoning, please ask, and I'll dig up links to my LJ comments dicussing the tale or engage in a discussion with you. But I hope that whether my rationale is important to you or not, you will enjoy the story. . .I don't think it's necessary to know the reasoning behind my thought pattern in advance to find pleasure in the tale. :) At least I hope it isn't!

Warning: pure fluff (sometimes angst-filled, sometimes not) written for its own sake. It's not intended to have a grand plot. Lots of Frodo h/c in this, though, so if you like that, you'll enjoy this, especially if you like food detail! If you don't. . .my apologies; to each her (or his) own taste. :) I make absolutely no claims whatsoever that this is a canonically thematic portrayal of the West, though I have attempted to follow some canonical points, at least, of what we know, including that there was never a guarantee of how Frodo's healing would come, if it did, but that he might seek it there. . .as well as in some other matters, such as some of the book's characters actually being there at this time. Beyond those little points, I'm not even attempting to create a canonically purist story. This is purely for pleasure.

Part VII Notes: An extra-extra-extra-special thanks to all those who have reviewed thus far!

A word of reassurance for those who still worry. . .as I've promised, no, this one is not a deathfic; I have no plans for the Ringbearer to expire. . .so please don't fret!

For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please e-mail your request to febobe at yahoo dot com.

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters, such as Mornaduial and Narien, are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.

**Part VII: Decisions and Details**

He slept.

The little one slept, tucked into bed beneath soft covers and down comforter, still occasionally shivering in his slumber as if chilled. Celebrian sat by him, shushing and stroking his brow when he stirred, to keep him from waking, so exhausted and ill did he seem.

_So small._

He was tiny, as small as her children had once been, no bigger than Elladan or Elrohir when she had rocked them to sleep in her arms. . .smaller than Arwen when she was still running about, chasing butterflies.

-Even you can only imagine what he has endured.-

Elrond's voice caught her attention, and she nodded, still stroking the fair brow as Frodo shivered weakly in his sleep, causing the faint trembling to ease back into stillness. -I can sense it. He has endured much, and more than a poisoned wound is at work here, though it accounts for much.-

-Yes.- Elrond took a seat on the opposite side of the bed, reaching beneath blankets to rub the small back. -He has been wounded with spider-sting, with bitter whip, with cruel spear, and with deadly knife. . .and he has borne the One into the Black Land, to the very fire where it was made.-

Celebrian's heart ached, and abruptly her own shoulder throbbed, causing her to swallow sharply. -Poor little one. And yet such courage, to bear all that as he has. And you say he carried the One willingly?-

-Yes. When no other would offer to carry this thing to its destination, it was Frodo Baggins who stood alone and said that he would take it, though he did not know the way. Such courage I have not seen in Men or Elves or Dwarves, nor indeed any people I have encountered save Hobbits. And this hobbit has courage above all others, I deem, though his servant may follow in time, and you shall then meet strength of a different kind.-

She nodded. -But for now, there is the matter of Frodo to be decided.-

-There is indeed. I would have him with us for a few days, at least, before he is taken to the healers. . .-

-No.- The firmness of her own voice surprised her. -No, he will not go to the Healing Halls, pleasant though they are. Let the healers come to us! He shall stay here, where he has a home. . .and, if you are willing. . .- She hesitated, looking up at him pleadingly. -. . .a family.-

For a long moment Elrond looked into her eyes, his grey gaze somber. At last he nodded. -He has a family here. And here he shall remain. Though he will need a great deal of care before any healing can truly begin. . . .-

-What would I be, if I did not provide it?- Beneath her hands the little hobbit stirred, nestling weakly against her touch, and she reached beneath the edge of the covers to slip one hand around his small ones. -He is my own, the one whom I have long sensed in visions. I could not abandon him.-

-What do you then propose?- Elrond's eyes sought hers, and in them she saw questioning such as never before.

-Are you not the healer in the family?- There was mirth in her tone, but she could not help curiousity at his enquiry.

He shook his head. -My skills were not enough to heal you beyond body. As you can see, they were not enough to do even that for Frodo. I was able to spare his life when he was wounded, but little else have I been able to do for him. It took both your mother and myself to keep him alive on the boat when his strength began to further ebb.-

For a moment she considered, recalling her earliest days after arrival. What had been done for her? -Time will be needed more than anything, and what we must do is buy him that. He needs rest and nourishment; we must provide them in such a way that he can take them, and benefit from them.-

A nod; Elrond's expression was grave. -There is another matter. . .one of grave import.-

-Yes?- She continued to cradle the small hands in hers, stroking the dark curls with her free hand.

-He was wounded on October the sixth.-

Her breath caught. -And tomorrow is. . .-

-Yes. He will need all the aid we can provide for him.- Darkness dimmed Elrond's fair countenance. -My hope is merely to keep him alive through tomorrow; from his own report, his illness has grown worse with each anniversary that passes. This time he is already so weak that I fear for his life.-

Celebrian reached for her husband's hand. -But we are in Tol Eressea now, and we are together. Let you call for Ami to come, if she will, and the three of us will see to it that he does not face this anniversary unaided.-

A faint smile greeted her in return. -Indeed we will. And may it be that this strength alone will be enough to pull him through the day.-

-Mornaduial and Narien will come. They will help us. He must have warm blankets, and nourishment, and all the things I cannot provide if I am to sit with him. They have asked what they can do to help, and here already is the perfect opportunity.- She smiled. -Fear not; I think the Ringbearer will find himself surrounded by help this time.-

She bent to kiss the fair brow, still cold despite the warm covers tucked around the tiny body.

-As we could not protect you before, tithen min, so shall we protect you now. Stay with us!-

-to be continued-


	8. Part VIII: Darkness Waxing

Title: What May Come  
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)  
E-mail: febobe at yahoo dot com  
Characters: Celebrian, Frodo, Elrond; Gandalf, Bilbo, various others.  
Rating: PG-13 or so. It's probably just PG-13, generally, but I don't know angstiness and h/c level for every single chapter yet. This chapter rated PG-13.  
Summary: Frodo's healing in the West is not as he had hoped. . .and yet it is more; in Tol Eressea he finds a new home and family, and a different kind of healing. . . .  
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.  
Story Notes: I am delighted to finally publish a story that I began work on more than a year and a half ago, though to this day I cannot say it will not undergo further revision before some final version. However, it is very dear to my heart, and I thought I might go ahead and share it here as a work-in-progress - open to you all the drafts, notes, etc. - of the past many months and hope that you, too, will enjoy them. The interpretation, of course, is purely mine and was touched upon in "The Memory of Taste" (original publication of first chapter 1/18/03). . .others may disagree, or may share this view, but this is an old project of mine and simply a view I hold. If you wish to hear my reasoning, please ask, and I'll dig up links to my LJ comments dicussing the tale or engage in a discussion with you. But I hope that whether my rationale is important to you or not, you will enjoy the story. . .I don't think it's necessary to know the reasoning behind my thought pattern in advance to find pleasure in the tale. :) At least I hope it isn't!

Warning: pure fluff (sometimes angst-filled, sometimes not) written for its own sake. It's not intended to have a grand plot. Lots of Frodo h/c in this, though, so if you like that, you'll enjoy this, especially if you like food detail! If you don't. . .my apologies; to each her (or his) own taste. :) I make absolutely no claims whatsoever that this is a canonically thematic portrayal of the West, though I have attempted to follow some canonical points, at least, of what we know, including that there was never a guarantee of how Frodo's healing would come, if it did, but that he might seek it there. . .as well as in some other matters, such as some of the book's characters actually being there at this time. Beyond those little points, I'm not even attempting to create a canonically purist story. This is purely for pleasure.

Part VIII Notes: An extra-extra-extra-special thanks to all those who have reviewed thus far! A word of reassurance for those who still worry. . .as I've promised, no, this one is not a deathfic; I have no plans for the Ringbearer to expire. . .so please don't fret!

For permission to reproduce any part of this fanfic, please e-mail your request to febobe at yahoo dot com.

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. Original characters, such as Mornaduial and Narien, are my own work; please do not use my creations in your work. Please respect my original contributions. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.

**Part VIII: Darkness Waxing **

_Cold. . .so cold. . . ._

Frodo awoke, shivering violently, only to find that he was not in Bag End, nor even on the ship, but tucked up into bed in a house, with Elrond at his side, one warm hand resting gently on his brow. It felt good, and Frodo closed his eyes, wishing the warmth would melt through his entire body.

"Please. . .wh-what is. . .th-the t-time?"

"Half-past midnight," came the familiar, comforting voice. "Celebrian thought you might be close to waking; she has gone to warm some milk for you. Will you try a little?"

Frodo nodded faintly, though he felt sick, with no appetite for anything more than water, if even that. "I could t-try. . . ."

"It will do you much good."

There was a soft sound of rustling cloth, and Frodo recognised the faint scent of sea-water and strange but delightful-smelling herbs. At once he opened his eyes, a glance confirming that Lady Celebrian had returned, bearing a tiny feeding-cup. She smiled tenderly as she bent over him, setting the cup aside and offering her arms.

"Frodo, I think you would be more comfortable - warmer - in a lap. Will you permit me?"

Shyly he nodded, feeling a bit babyish for allowing such a thing, but relieved at the prospect of more warmth. . .he felt so cold and sick, and the idea of curling up in her lap sounded wonderful. As she slipped her arms beneath him and gathered him close, he offered no protest, merely snuggling into the warmth as she drew him close against her bosom.

"You do not have to drink it all. But I hope you will try a little if you can."

The spout of the cup touched his lips, and he sipped weakly, tasting the drink cautiously. Yes, it was plain milk, nicely warmed to just the right temperature, as he had warmed bottles for Elanor when Rosie was sleeping. The thought made his eyes prickle and his throat thicken, and he had to pause in his sipping to steady himself.

"Thoughts of home?"

Her perception startled him, but he nodded.

"Thoughts of home often troubled me when I first came here. Already my heart was disturbed by the sense that I would not see my children again." She smiled sadly, stroking his hair. "I am happy for them, though. And who is to say that my daughter's choice was not the best?"

He had no answer for that, and was grateful that she touched the feeding-cup to his lips again, coaxing him to take more of the warm milk. But memories of Elanorelle and Sam and Rosie were beginning to fade before the black shapes filling his mind like suffocating shadows. . . .

_No. . . ._

_Yes._

_No. . .no, you cannot have me; it is ended. . .you were destroyed!_

_Were we?_

His shoulder throbbed miserably, causing him to suddenly whimper. At once the lady set aside the cup, cradling him closer so that his left arm was tucked warmly against her, shushing gently. He was vaguely aware of Elrond moving about, and within minutes the scent of _athelas _filled the room, fragrant and calming.

But still he felt so cold, and it hurt so. . .and it was increasingly difficult to hear Lady Celebrian's firm reassurances that he was not alone, that he was safe at home.

_Home? Where is your home, wandering Ringbearer?_

He had no answer, and pain and cold assailed him even as he struggled to think of something.

_You have no home. . .have had none since your parents died. Bilbo took you in out of pity, you know! _

_No, he didn't! Bilbo loves me. _

Another wave of icy pain.

_Bilbo has not known how to love since he took the Ring. He is no more capable of love than was Gollum, though he still seems it. _

He wept, tears stinging against his cheeks.

_And you - you will never remember anything pleasant again. Not even the simple taste of bread or fruit. That has been lost to you forever. All your beloved memories will fade into the Wheel of Fire. . . ._

If he had felt well enough, blinding fury would have seized him. . .but as it was, he folded up in Celebrian's arms, sobbing in choking gasps until he could scarcely breathe.

-to be continued-


End file.
